


Oh My America

by Vae



Category: Torchwood RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-19
Updated: 2007-07-19
Packaged: 2017-11-20 20:14:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/589231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vae/pseuds/Vae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt reminds him of Scott, and of America.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh My America

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the fourth [Porn Battle](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/317183.html). So pretty much PWP. Prompt "missing America"

Matt reminds him of Scott. Maybe that's the attraction. Tall, fine-boned, mischief lurking in his eyes, beautiful hands and an ass that screams 'fuck me' every time Matt turns his back to John. Walking, talking, _dancing_ temptation. There's never really been any chance that John could resist.

It's inevitable that they end up in John's trailer one night after filming, Penny curled up on the bench seat, and really, that's why they end up sprawled on the bed. Not to disturb Penny. White teeth flashing in a wide smile and Christ, that takes him back. English guys don't have teeth like Americans. Great teeth, no mistake, but there's something about a mouthful of white, even teeth that has John imagining how they'd feel under his tongue. Biting into his ear, neck, shoulder, fuck, he's got to get his thoughts away from that train of thought because Matt's actually talking and he's meant to be paying attention to the words.

He raises a hand to scrub at his eyes, trying out a grin. "Shit, sorry. Long day. You were saying?"

"I was saying," and Matt returns the grin, collecting John's glass and setting it safely out of reach along with his own, "that you're staring, buddy."

John's not even going to try and deny the truth of that. "You're worth staring at," he retorts, propping himself up on one elbow. "Gorgeous smile. Does it taste as good as it looks?"

Matt blinks and laughs. "That's gotta be the corniest line ever."

"Is it gonna work?" Eyes still on Matt's mouth, John traces one finger lightly along Matt's jaw, hand settling flat on his cheek.

Matt's eyes darken, head turning to follow John's touch. "Better believe it."

John's reply is barely formed before Matt's kissing him, and all thoughts of responding with words are stolen by Matt's mouth and it tastes fucking wonderful, warm, spicy, and intoxicating as champagne. Matt kisses like he works, deliberate and focused with an edge of fun that's arousing as hell, and just like he works, there's more than one layer. The kiss is just a start, continuing with Matt's hands pushing his t-shirt up, and Matt's body hot against his own, and John's no slouch either, hands exploring Matt's back, finally closing on the promising curves of that perfect, tight ass.

The kiss has to end. Not because John wants to stop kissing Matt, because that's hot, that's fucking addictive, but he needs more. Matt's face is flushed, lips rich and full from kissing, and John steals one more kiss before sliding his hands under Matt's shirt, mouth traveling along that strong jaw to nip sharply at his ear.

Matt gasps, chuckles, breathless and joyous, voice rough. "Fuck."

"You're the boss," John agrees readily, tugging at the shirt until Matt twists away, sinuous curve of torso as he pulls it off, leaving his hair invitingly mussed. Trousers follow, socks, shoes, underwear, John scrambling to follow suit and God, Matt's so damn beautiful, lean and toned and fucking edible. Nice smooth chest, lightly muscled, slim hips and fuck, that cock's begging to be touched, fingers curling around in a teasing stroke that brings the sweetest gasp from Matt, wordless encouragement until John's heading downwards, not enough, he's got to taste, long, appreciative lick before he takes hold, thumbs settling easily into the groove of hipbones, and wraps his lips around Matt's cock. It's fucking incredible, musky scent hitting him like a drug at the same time as flavor mixes with the stretch of jaw, softhardness against his lips, his tongue, slight tug of those elegant fingers tangling in his hair and that sound, Jesus fucking Christ that _sound_ is one he needs to hear again, needs Matt to make again, and again, crescendo accelerando fortissimo, suck and twist and move and coax and demand and command until muscles tense under his hands, breath hitches, and there, fuck, yeah, there, that half-moan-half-word-all-pleasure that fills his ears as surely as cock fills his mouth with bittersaltsweet greedily swallowed down, waiting for the pull on his head and the soft near-whimper of sensation overload before he lets go, sitting back, gazing up along the length of Matt's body, stretched out lax and sated, to meet bliss-hazed gray eyes.

"John," Matt whispers, one hand lifted in invitation. "Fuck me."

Hell, yeah.


End file.
